


mind over mind

by slightlyworriedhuman



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Averted Character Death, Character Study, M/M, Steve cares, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator, but steve's the only one in here aside fom jesse, parts of a transcript from alan watts because listening to him speak nspired this whole fic, references to religion in the transcript pieces, they all care i think they just don't show it enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyworriedhuman/pseuds/slightlyworriedhuman
Summary: How can something so intangible hurt so much?You’ll surely let me help you or you’ll drown, said the monkey, kindly putting the fish up a tree.In which the ocean is cold and Steve is warm.





	mind over mind

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Alan Watt's speech titled Mind Over Mind and got inspired. Enjoy.

_ How does man follow the will of god if the will of man is perverse? _

 

When he stares at the lapping of the waves, he remembers an old lecture he had hears ages ago, something he had listened to on one of his long walks. It was odd, comforting; the words of Alan Watts, set to peaceful music. It had come on automatically, something in his recommended; he let it continue, interested by the man’s soothing voice.

 

_ If you want life, don’t cling to it. Let go. _

 

At first, Jesse had continued walking when it came on; it had started with the questioning of god, of man, of earth and life. His legs continued on autopilot beneath him as the man’s voice continued, level yet questioning. Slowly, though, he began to lag, as if cresting some great hill. Eventually, he stopped, the earth stopping around him, rotation pausing and freezing him in place before his own little house of god.

 

_ We are all in various ways lacking in wisdom, lacking in courage, afraid of death, afraid of pain; unwilling, really to cooperate with others, to be open with others. _

 

Slowly, tears had begun to track down his face as he stood alone before the abandoned house. It felt like some mix of sacrilegious and holy, to listen to these words from decades past and passed while before the church of his angel; Watts’ voice had continued calmly, speculating life and death and god and humanity as he slowly, slowly sank to the ground before the house, a shell that had held an angel and hope and the vitriol of wonder. He didn’t even realize he had begun to weep until salt had burned his tongue, had dripped into his hands, tasting of misery and confusion, tasting of the ocean air before him now. 

 

_ People fall from grace; why do they? You see, we’re just talking about the same old problem, but it’s still the same old problem. _

 

He stares now at the open sea, realizes that he isn’t just tasting the salty air but tears again. It’s as if he can’t move from where he stands, as if he’s been frozen in place. There’s packets of stolen painkillers in his pocket, but he can’t move to grab them; isn’t this when he needs them most? He’s in pain, he can feel it; it’s a feeling of waves cresting inside his body and soul, his heart being washed at by the rising tides. This is pain, isn’t it? His feet propel him forward before he can think too much about movement; he steps out of his shoes and slowly steps to where the foamy tide can wash around his feet. They sink into the soft sand where the water swirls around them, but the cold does nothing to shake him from this feeling. Is the cold pain? he wonders as he steps further, letting his ankles become wet. Is this pain? Is this what he feels? It’s the anticipation at the top of a roller coaster mixed with the fear of standing upon a mountain with no rope; something is coming, is cresting like the water before him.

 

_ Well, I’ll be better that way--yes, but why do you want to be better? The reason you want to be better is the reason you aren’t. We aren’t better because we want to be. _

 

Is this pain in his heart? He questions it as the lilac of the sky seems to ingrain itself into his mind, as it washes over him with the freezing water. Something is happening, something big, something important; it’s what he felt when they did the movements around a boy turned monster, what he felt when he heard the whoosh of the ether outside an ambulance as he ran. Surely it is, then; this is the pain of change. This is the pain of knowing something will happen,  _ must _ happen, and being unable to change it. It hurts. Yes, he’s sure now-- it  _ hurts _ , it burns like fire and chills him like ice, it feels like a branding iron on his heart. Almost as if it moves independent of his own will, his hand comes up to clutch at his heart; he feels like he’s been shot. How can something so intangible hurt so much? Why does he hurt? Why does he  _ hurt? _

 

_ You’ll surely let me help you or you’ll drown, said the monkey, kindly putting the fish up a tree. _

 

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he realizes someone’s been saying his name. His body is still frozen, but the pressure seems to thaw him a bit; he turns, sees Steve’s face set in concern beneath unruly reddish-blond hair. He can feel the tears that still burn on his face, can see that Steve’s eyes, always flitting about, catch them in the fading light. Steve softens in that way he always does when he’s around Jesse, when there aren’t people to drive back with sharp edges and cold stares, with hard angles and heavy words. His hand slides down Jesse’s arm to his hand, where it rests over his heart; there’s a crinkle of plastic, and Steve slowly pulls something from his hand, tosses it into the ocean before Jesse before taking his hand again. His face is blurred by tears that disappear in a slow blink. Something is happening, something unfixed and definite, infinite and incredibly short, pivotal and so, so meaningless, an ant escaping the shoe of a toddler.

 

_ You cannot be genuinely loving by intending to love. You either love or you don’t. If you intend to love a person, you deceive them, and you build up reason for resentment. _

 

An arm wraps around him as sea foam curls around his feet again, hand still squeezing Jesse’s over his heart. The taste of salt is muffled all at once by the smell of cologne and shampoo and something inexplicably and inescapably  _ Steve-- _ is this the change? is this the moment?--and suddenly, he feels his lungs expand with air, as if he had been holding his breath all this time. It escapes him in a soft sob, muffled in the shoulder of Steve’s sweater; the arm around him grips him  tighter, and he slowly raises his other arm to cling desperately to Steve, to grip the cotton beneath his fingers like it’s a lifeline.

 

_ Do we ever just watch? Watch what’s happening?  _

 

He doesn’t know how long it is before his shoulders stop shaking so much, but the sky is dark, now, and his feet are numb from the ocean’s chill. He still feels tears leaking down his face, but when he pulls back, the light of stars shows him that Steve’s skin is highlighted by small wet trails as well. Gently, so gently, Steve tugs his hand, still over his heart; he lets Steve pull him, nearly falling over his numb feet. His whole body feels numb, now, really; the hurt is gone, as if the universe sighed and blew the air another way. The decision was made, and it’s something he can feel deep inside. The anticipation is gone, replaced by numbness, replaced by something he hasn’t felt in what feels like years.

Steve leads him to his tent, silent but not small; he unzips the tent and guides Jesse in, sits on the sleeping bag beside Jesse and zips the canvas back closed again. There’s mesh for the top of the tent, and through it, Jesse can see stars.

 

_ You are nonplussed, and you are simply reduced to watching. _

 

He lays down on the sleeping bag with wet feet and Steve right beside him; he faces him, sniffs slightly as Steve stares at him with a furrowed brow, visible in the starlight.

“You know we love you, right?” Steve whispers, low and soft in a way he rarely shows. His hand squeezes Jesse’s, and his other arm comes up to brush hair back from Jesse’s tear-stained face. Jesse knows Steve was crying too, but his voice doesn’t waver or crack. “We love you. Okay?” He nods slightly, eyes tracing the creases in Steve’s forehead, following the curls of his hair that remind him so much of the ocean’s waves. “I love you. Don’t forget that. Okay?” 

 

_ This real world is not spiritual, it is not material; it is simply… _

 

His hand is squeezed again, and this time, he squeezes back, grips Steve’s hand as hard as his numb fingers will let him; the warmth is life, seeping back into his veins form where the ocean chill had turned him to ice. Steve’s hand, still brushing back his hair, sparks warmth when it comes down to cup his jaw; in moments, warmth blooms on Jesse’s lips, inside his lungs as he breathes in, upon his forehead where it rests against Steve’s. After an impossibly short, infinite time, Steve pulls away while pulling Jesse close; Jesse’s head finds rest upon the shoulder he had cried on just minutes before, body curling against Steve’s like it has during so many sleepovers as children.

 

_ We don’t know. _

 

“We love you.” 

Jesse breathes, and Steve is soft against him, soft and warm and alive.

 

_ Well then, let’s go on living. _

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm not sure I even wrote that kiss as romantic... it's a complex relationship in my eyes.  
> Find me @jesse-mills on tumblr. Have a lovely one.


End file.
